


A Bad Case of the Dates (Measurements)

by gingerink



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad dates, Cuddling & Snuggling, Gen, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, Pining, blatant hadley fraser and phantom of the opera loving, blatant pop culture references, boys are in love but are also idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 09:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3322532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingerink/pseuds/gingerink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s my only hope, Jehan. You’re my only hope.”<br/>“I always thought of myself as Princess Leia.”<br/>Courfeyrac groaned. “You’re one of the worse best friends ever.”<br/>“Unfortunately for you, you happen to be in love with one of your other best friends.”</p><p>Courfeyrac has been in love with Combeferre since forever. He decides to go on a series of dates to help him get over his crush. This goes as well as can be expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bad Case of the Dates (Measurements)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for my Nano and I finally plucked up the courage to post it.  
> Irish!Combeferre and Courfeyrac are my lifeblood.  
> Enjoy! :)

_In modern day Dublin  
Measured in sixty minutes  
  
_

Courfeyrac wasn’t exactly short of attention from either sex in regards to dating. (He wasn’t, thank you for asking.) He was just so picky at times. Courfeyrac was definitely a free spirit, he liked to have fun and if he broke a few hearts, whether they be male or female, he just figured that it was just another bump along the way to becoming an adult. He wasn’t sure if his inability to settle down with just one partner or move anywhere past the second date was due to his crippling fear of commitment or down to his troubled family problems. He’d grown up used to his father entertaining a new blonde on his arm every week for galas, charity dinners and the like. Courfeyrac remarked once on the fact that his father always seemed to favour a similar model; long blonde hair extensions, big breasts, tiny waist, fake smile. It had earned him a quick slap across the face. He’d barely spoken to his father after that. He moved in with his mother, attended college and received excellent grades in his subjects (English Literature, Drama and Music. His Music teacher told him that his rendition of Streets of Dublin had moved him to tears.) He applied to Dublin University and got accepted immediately. He moved to Dublin that September to study English Literature. He met a large group of people, all studying different subjects and coming from different walks of life.  
  
Combeferre was the first one he met, shortly followed by Enjolras (because you never knew one without the other, but they will be described later.) Where Enjolras followed, Grantaire also went, cigarette smoke, whiskey and eyeliner. Jehan was the next to float into his life, patchouli, incense, glitter and poetry all contained within a thin, pale-skinned man with red curly hair braided down his back. Jehan brought with him; Feuilly, his boyfriend, and Joly, a medical student with a hypochondriac streak. Marius, a politics student was another addition, and with him, he brought Eponine. Bahorel and Bossuet finished off their tight knit group.  


* * *

  
He met Combeferre first. It was shortly after he moved to Dublin. Combeferre was a constant in his life from that day onwards. He recalled the first day that they had met in a lecture. Combeferre’s degree was not even in English Literature, he was just interested in the module of Irish Literature during the fight for Independence. Courfeyrac was in awe. Combeferre studied medicine. Medicine. And he was spending his extra time in a lecture about Seamus Heaney. Combeferre was one of the biggest nerds he had ever met. He actually dabbled in lepidoptery, he wrote his notes for the lecture he wasn’t doing a degree in in a notebook covered with moth drawings he’d done himself. He wrote poetry to rival Courfeyrac’s friend Jehan’s verses, he did yoga every Tuesday and Friday, he studied astronomy, and he knew at least five different languages including French, German, Irish Gaelic, Italian and Spanish. He even knew Latin. (Which everyone knows is a dead language, Courfeyrac saw no point).  
  
Whenever Courfeyrac glanced over at the young medical student occupying his table in the corner of the Café Musain, he always had his nose stuck in either some old medical journal or some even older Latin text. Courfeyrac even swore one day that he saw Combeferre reading ‘Dante’s Inferno’ in the original Italian and he seemed to have no problems. Combeferre was perfect, according to everyone who knew him.

The only problem, according to Courfeyrac, was that Combeferre appeared to be straight. Courfeyrac had never even seen him with a member of the opposite sex, but he didn’t seem to be interested in the same sex either. Courfeyrac knew this due to the fact that Combeferre’s best friend was an absolute Adonis. Enjolras was part of the package that came with Combeferre, they had been friends since they were about three years old. Passionate, outspoken, confident and he had a stunning face to boot. Courfeyrac had a crush on Enjolras for about three weeks before he realised how overbearing the man was. However, they soon became firm friends when Courfeyrac realised that he no longer wanted to sleep with the beautiful blonde man. Enjolras was another part of Courfeyrac and he was happy to count himself as one of Enjolras’ closest friends. Combeferre probably never wanted to sleep with Enjolras, the man was practically a monk. He was too interested in books. His room in his university accommodation was filled with books and journals of varying size and age.   
  
Courfeyrac often ended up in Combeferre’s flat, reading up on random subjects such as the planet Venus or how greenhouse gases affect the world. He often curled up on the older man’s single bed, mesmerised by how the orange light of Combeferre’s lamp softened the features of the medical student’s face. The ever-present horn-rimmed glasses were perched on Combeferre’s nose, the light spreading across the pale expense of his skin. His hair, a shock of caramel, hung in smooth curves. He pushed a lock of hair back from his face, his brow slightly wrinkling. His oversized jumper, patterned with brown and grey triangles was rucked up slightly revealing a small sliver of pale gold skin. Courfeyrac ran his tongue over his sudden dry lips. He had to get over this crush, Combeferre wasn’t even gay. He didn’t want to lose the man’s friendship because he was scared that Courfeyrac would hold him down and kiss the living daylights out of him (even if Courfeyrac wanted to, so badly.)

Fuck, he needed to start dating.  


* * *

 

_Measured in a series of numbers written on palms  
  
_

It didn’t take long for Courfeyrac to sketch out his plan in his university notebook.

 **How to Get Over Combeferre**  
Dating at University

~~**_1\. Read articles_ ** ~~

He shook his head. When did he turn into Combeferre?

**_1\. Inspect flirting technique with Jehan  
_ **

Jehan was one of his closest friends and he was sure that the young Romantic wouldn’t mind spending a few hours giving Courfeyrac a few pointers. Courfeyrac hadn’t dated since his first year in college and he felt as though he was a little rusty.  
He sent a text off to Jehan.

To: Jehan  
From: Le Courf

Hi beautiful. Can I come to yours for a few hours?  
C x

The reply from Jehan was instant.

To: Le Courf  
From: Jehan  
Hi gorgeous. Give me an hour. Feuilly and I are studying.  
J x

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. Studying meant that Feuilly and Jehan were rolling around on Jehan’s battered couch, lips brushing together. Courfeyrac automatically thought of himself and Combeferre in the same position. Glasses-less Combeferre, rumpled golden brown hair, that stupid sweater vest all crumpled showing off an expanse of golden skin. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. He needed to date. He needed to make out with someone, anyone who wasn’t Combeferre. The list lay forgotten.

A few hours later, he was sitting on the very same couch that Jehan and Feuilly had probably tumbled around on hours earlier. Jehan had opened the door with swollen lips and xyr’s t-shirt was on backwards. Courfeyrac sighed.  
  
“So you are still head over heels for our resident Moth Boy?”  
  
“It would appear so.” Courfeyrac said, gloomily. The tea that Jehan had prepared for him was one of his favourites, vanilla and strawberry, but he couldn’t force himself to drink it. He’d also harboured a crush on Jehan for a while, (to be honest, Courfeyrac got crushes on most of his friends that eventually faded after a while, or in the case of Combeferre, got worse until Courfeyrac was constantly nursing a boner in his presence.)  
  
“I’m so sorry, honey. I don’t really know what to say. I’ve never seen Combeferre be passionate with anyone. Well, except Enjolras. But you know, those two have so much history, if they aren’t dating by now, they never will be.”  
  
“I don’t want to talk about Enjolras. I’d rather not discuss the prospect of Combeferre realising that Enjolras is truly his soul mate.”  
  
“If he hasn’t figured it out by now, he never will…so what was it you wanted, Courf?”  
  
“I want to date.”  
  
Jehan’s grin grew. He finished off his green tea, tying back his long, red hair. “You are going to date? Like throw yourself into the big wide world?”  
  
“It can’t be more different than dating in college.”  
  
“You could say that. But do you think that it will help you to get over Combeferre?”  
  
“It’s my only hope, Jehan. You’re my only hope.”  
  
“I always thought of myself as Princess Leia.”  
  
Courfeyrac groaned. “You’re one of the worse best friends ever.”  
  
“Unfortunately for you, you happen to be in love with one of your other best friends.”  


* * *

 

_Measured in knowledge  
  
_

Combeferre was late. Courfeyrac shivered and pulled his thin coat around him seeking more warmth. He knew he should have put on his new winter coat but he thought that it clashed with his shoes. He was meeting up with Combeferre to discuss his first literature paper, he thought that it was a good idea to bounce ideas off the medical student; before he realised that Combeferre was also a student and probably had his own thesis to write, introductions to start and his recommendations to begin. Courfeyrac tried to push the guilt away. Combeferre could have said no. Courfeyrac knew he had one of the best set of puppy eyes in the entire group of friends, but he had texted Combeferre to ask him if he could help him. There were no puppy eyes to speak of.  
  
Courfeyrac checked his watch. It wasn’t like Combeferre to be late. The man even spoke of getting a pocket watch tattooed on his forearm to highlight how much punctuality meant to him. (Courfeyrac hoped that he did not get a tattoo, he feared that his dick would not be able to handle that.) Courfeyrac tried not to think about Combeferre hurt somewhere in a back alley down the back streets of Dublin. Combeferre too came from Dublin, he knew the man could handle himself but he still worried. Where was he? A warm, firm hand grasped his forearm. He looked up in the warm, brown eyes of his best friend.

His hair was as perfect as always, slightly ruffled from the wind, as were his cheeks, stained a bright shade of red. A thick, deep blue scarf was wound around his neck and he was clutching several books in his gloved hands.  
  
“I’m so sorry I’m late. I ended up at the library to see if I could find anymore source material for you to borrow. I bought a few books of my own in my bag too.”  
  
Courfeyrac found himself lost for words. How could he have found the most perfect man in the world and how was this perfect man not dating him?  
  
They went into the Café Musain and settled themselves near the back of the coffee shop. Café Musain was one of the group of friends’ favourite hangout spots, often when Courfeyrac went into the shop to buy a cup of coffee in the early hours of the morning before his Victorian Literature lecture, he would often spot one or two of his friends in the coffee shop at the same time. Grantaire was usually nursing an early drink with his ever present sketchbook laid out in front of him. Joly drinking a cup of coffee, surrounded by piles and piles of medical textbooks. Enjolras writing one of his speeches for his class, blonde hair falling down by his neck, not aware of Grantaire’s ever present stare upon himself. Combeferre took out all his materials and Courfeyrac went to buy them both some coffee. As he went over to the table, with the tray, he glanced over at his friend and grinned widely. The golden light had once more served to make Combeferre look more ethereal.  
  
He checked his watch. Jehan had managed to get him a date tonight with a bloke on his Drama course. He was not looking forward to it. He had three hours to study with Combeferre and then he needed to go back to his flat to shower and put on something nice, he had to make an effort.  
  
“Thank you.” Combeferre said as Courfeyrac handed him his steaming hot coffee.  
  
“No problem.” Courfeyrac replied, trying not to blush as they settled into the worn leather chairs and began their discussion.  


* * *

 

Courfeyrac felt panic rise in his chest when he checked his watch. “Shit.” He said under his breath. He should have been home by now.  
  
“Something wrong?” Combeferre asked from inside a huge volume of Shakespeare.  
  
“I need to go home. I…I have a date.” Courfeyrac stated.  
  
A little wrinkle appeared upon Combeferre’s brow. “Date?”  
  
Courfeyrac felt his cheeks bloom with colour and tried to brush it off as something of major unimportance. “Yeah, just something that Jehan sorted out for me. It’s nothing really.”  
  
The wrinkle disappeared and the dimples, those fucking dimples, appeared on either side of Combeferre’s cheeks.“Well, I shan’t keep you any longer. You better go and get ready for your date. I’ll collect all your notes and books and I’ll bring them over to your flat tomorrow afternoon.”  
  
Combeferre didn’t give Courfeyrac any time to argue. He just nodded dumbly, trying not to think how he’d probably replay this moment all the time during the date. He grabbed his bag, threw on his coat and stepped out of the warmth of the Musain to go back to his flat.

He tried not to take ages to get ready but he always believes in the importance of first impressions. He slipped all of his clothes into the washing basket and stepped into the shower. He sighed heavily, letting the warm water wash over him and relieve his muscles of the knots he acquired hutched in the leather armchairs at the Musain. His thought quickly changed to Combeferre and he fought hard not to wrap his hands around his dick and quickly knock one out to his best friend. Instead, he quickly washed his hair and tried to calm his boner down by thinking about what kind of man Jehan had selected for his first date. He forced himself out of the shower, wrapping his hot pink towel around himself to stave off the chill that had settled in his apartment. Opening his wardrobe, he carefully scanned the contents, trying to decide how casual an outfit he should wear. He dried off his hair and tried to style it, but his inky hair hung in thick curls framing his face. He sighed and began to pick out outfits for his date. Skinny jeans or posh trousers? Plaid shirt or one of his nice going out shirts?  
  
Courfeyrac cursed Jehan and his date. He could have still been in the Musain right now with Combeferre, trying not to stare at his friends beautiful long fingers. He shook his head. He had to do this. It wasn’t fair to continue pining for Combeferre. He settled on a blue plaid shirt (Jehan always said it brought out his eyes.) and his softest, faded pair of skinny jeans. Pulling on his grey boots to match, he decided to pull on his winter coat and looked at himself. He looked great as always. He gave himself a twirl in the mirror, grinning at how his arse looked in his jeans. His date was going to love it.

  
He left his car keys in the usual spot, in a bowl, by the door and went out into the cold winter night.  


* * *

 

_Measured in missed starters  
  
_

He regretted not bringing his car keys. His date was for want of a better word, awful. The guy was beautiful, he looked exactly like Enjolras. Curly blonde hair; it wasn’t as long as his best friends, but Courf imagined fisting those blonde curls – Enjolras’ curls – it almost seemed like a betrayal of Grantaire. Clear, big blue eyes, a crinkly smile, broad shoulders, well built and tall. He was perfect, but Courfeyrac found himself imagining caramel coloured hair, glasses, freckles on well-built arms, sweater vests. Courfeyrac closed his eyes and counted to ten before plastering on his big smile to greet his date. They agreed to meet at a fancy little restaurant in the bustling streets of Dublin, far away from the Musain and in turn, far away from Combeferre and the rest of Les Amis. The man, Michael, kissed the hand that Courfeyrac offered him and led him into the restaurant. He truly was a gentleman and it made Courfeyrac feel guilty for his first impressions.  
  
However, all the positive impressions that Courf formed were soon destroyed in less than thirty minutes. The conversation at first, went smoothly with the two getting to know one another. Courfeyrac learnt that Michael was a big fan of opera and he wanted to be an actor in the West End when he had finished his performing arts course. He didn’t sound like he was from Ireland so Courfeyrac inquired as to where Michael was born. Michael began to tell him his life story, which then brought them onto a topic in which Courfeyrac had to bite his lips to stop a sigh from slipping out.  
  
“And I’ve had several boyfriends over the years, in my last year at college, I slept with over three hundred people-“  
  
“Excuse me.” Courfeyrac smiled, sweetly. “I’m just going to use the bathroom.”

He scaled out the bathroom to check there was nobody there before he pulled out his phone and dialled the first person who came to mind.  
  
“Hello?” Combeferre’s voice sounded tinny, as though he was still in the Musain, surrounded by their friends.  
  
“Courfeyrac?” Combeferre repeated. “Are you okay?”  
  
“Will you ring me in about two minutes and pretend like something’s happened, like my grandma dying or something-“  
  
“Has something happened to your grandma?”  
  
“No, thank god. I just need to get out of this date right now.”  
  
“Okay, Courf. If you’re certain-“  
  
“ _Please, Ferre._ ”  
  
Combeferre sighed and agreed, ending the call. Courfeyrac splashed a little water on his face and checked his hair in the mirror before taking a deep breath and going back out to Mr-clearly-not-over-his ex-boyfriend.  


* * *

 

_Measured in friendship  
  
_

Combeferre was true to his word and called Courfeyrac two minutes later. Right on time. He played his part very well, he even managed to turn on the water works. Michael was very understanding and even offered to pick up the cheque, leaving Courfeyrac with a gentle touch to his forearm.  


Combeferre was waiting outside in his Audi. He fought the urge to smile when he saw the familiar messy hair and the ever-present glasses. His friend’s face was twisted in worry.   
  
“What happened?” He asked, not waiting for Courfeyrac to even get his seatbelt on.  
  
“It was just a crap date, Ferre. He was just boring, I couldn’t subject myself to that for another two hours, our starters hadn’t even arrived when he started talking about his ex-boyfriend-“ Courfeyrac paused. “I’m sorry for calling you. Were you busy?”  
  
Combeferre smiled. “I was just in the Musain with Joly discussing work placements and then Enjolras wanted me to look over his paper, you know, the one that is due in in a month?”  
  
“He’s _finished_ it?”  
  
“Of course, it’s Enjolras, what do you think?”  
  
Courfeyrac laughed. However, the laughter faded when he realised that Combeferre had missed the turning for his student flat. Combeferre spoke before Courfeyrac could raise the issue. “Since you decide to walk out of dates before you are even served the starter, I figured you were hungry and well, I haven’t eaten yet either. I thought you might join me for dinner?”  
  
Courfeyrac became aware of the blush creeping across his cheeks and looked away as he replied, “Of course, anything is better than a single Pot Noodle.”  
  
“You never probably had a Pot Noodle in your life.” Combeferre argued.  
  
“I had one at Bossuet’s the other night, actually, when he ruined the dinner he cooked for us.”  


* * *

  
Courfeyrac had never had so much food in his life. Combeferre disappeared into the kitchen for an hour, leaving Courfeyrac his laptop for company. Courfeyrac managed to update his Facebook, Tumblr and Twitter. He was in the process of reblogging several images of Stephen Amell as The Arrow (what, he loved that show) and he was midway through a Facebook conversation with Joly and Jehan about his failed date and how much he sucked because he couldn’t even finish a date with a beautiful Enjolras-looking Adonis like Michael when he was interrupted by Combeferre, handing him a plate of food. Courfeyrac placed the laptop to one side and surveyed the meal his best friend had made. It was divine. The potatoes were buttery and soft and Courf had to bite his tongue to stop himself from making unnecessary noises. The vegetables were cooked to perfection and of course, Combeferre had not given Courf any carrots. Courfeyrac hated carrots. He finished the meal quickly and thanked his best friend. Combeferre grinned, finishing off his own plate and taking both plates away to the kitchen.  
  
“You didn’t have to make me dinner, Ferre. I’m sure you had lots of medicine things to do.”  
  
“I don’t want you going hungry. You shouldn’t be getting any skinnier, Courf.”  
  
“I’m eating, I promise.”  
  
“Okay, if you’re sure.”  
  
They settle down into a familiar conversation and then end up watching Doctor Who, curled up on Combeferre’s couch together. Courfeyrac felt his eyelids drooping and fought to keep awake. Yet, it was so hard wrapped in Combeferre’s warm, strong arms, tucked into his chest. Combeferre grinned to the smaller, dark-haired man resting in his arms, trying to focus on the show. Courfeyrac eventually wriggled out of Combeferre’s grasp and attempted to stand up.  
  
“I should go, it’s late.”  
  
“You can stay if you want. The buses have stopped running and you know I’d worry about you walking around Dublin at this hour.”  
  
“Ferre, I’m a Dubliner. I’ve walked those streets many a time.”  
  
“Please stay. I’ll even make you breakfast.” Combeferre pleaded.  
  
“Well, when you mention it like that.” Courfeyrac grinned, settling back down into Combeferre’s arms.  


* * *

  
  
Courfeyrac woke later and glanced at the clock. It was half past two in the morning. He dared to look at his best friend. Combeferre’s glasses were askew and his mouth hung slightly open. He looked younger in sleep, Courfeyrac thought. He almost didn’t want to wake the medical student up but he didn’t want him to go to classes the next morning with an aching back. He gently shook the object of his desires. Combeferre groaned a little. Courfeyrac pressed harder.   
  
Combeferre’s eyes flew open. “Wha-? Courf? What is it?”  
  
“You need to go to bed.”  
  
“Only if you come with me.” Combeferre said, thickly.   
  
Courfeyrac knew he was blushing. Why must he act like a blushing virgin whenever Combeferre said anything to him?  
  
“I’m not kicking you out of your bed too, Ferre. I’ll stay on the couch.”  
  
“Then your back will hurt too. My bed is big enough for the two of us.”  
  
Courfeyrac was too tired to argue.  


* * *

 

_Measured in oh god I spent the night in my best friend’s bed  
  
_

Courfeyrac was nursing a large Irish coffee, trying to ignore the fact that a few hours ago, he had been curled up with Combeferre, their feet tangled together like they were some sort of couple. He had made his excuses and left Combeferre’s apartment after eating a breakfast of bagels and orange juice. He tried to focus on the plan for his literature paper but all he could think about was what Combeferre’s hair looked like in the dim morning light and the sleep clinging to his eyes and the light brown five o clock shadow dusting around his jaw. Jehan was petting his hair ever so softly.  
  
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry about Michael. I didn’t know he’d recently broken up with his boyfriend. I checked my Facebook last night and I found out they only broke up two weeks ago. I’m sorry honey-“  
  
“He just talked about Ciaran all bloody night, Jehan. He talked about how good their sex was. He said how big his dick was. I ended up calling Combeferre-“  
  
“Wait, so you called Combeferre. _Courfeyrac._ ” There it was, the warning voice.  
  
“I know.” Courfeyrac whined, trying to disappear into his hoodie.  
  
“We discussed that you going to Combeferre was counterproductive to you, you know getting over Combeferre. How am I supposed to find you the man of your dreams if you keep calling him?”  
  
“What are we talking about?” Grantaire appears out of nowhere with a coffee that is probably more vodka than coffee.  
  
“Courfeyrac’s date last night.”  
  
“Oh, was it terrible?”  
  
“Think of Enjolras but with an extensive dating history.”  
  
Grantaire shuddered. “Sounds horrible. So he was one of these still fixated on the old boyfriend?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Jehan sighed and whipped out several shades of nail polish and began to uncap a base coat and began painting his nails. “He was gorgeous though.”  
  
“He looked like Enjolras!”  
  
Courfeyrac pretended that that he didn’t see Grantaire’s eyes flare with an unknown emotion.   
  
Jehan blew on his nails to dry the polish. “Why is that a problem? Enjolras is bloody stunning.”  
  
“Yes, he is, but he is one of my best friends. All I could think about was having sex with Enjolras whilst I looked at that guy.”  
  
Grantaire almost spat out his coffee. “He really looked like E?”  
  
“I’ve still got his number if you fancy getting over that crush you’ve been nursing for years, R.” Jehan winked.  
  
“Not likely.” Grantaire replied, rolling his eyes. He turned to Courfeyrac. “So what happened then?”  
  
“I might have called Combeferre to pick me up.” He lowered his voice. “I also stayed the night.”  
  
“On the couch? Nothing wrong with that.” Grantaire said.  
  
“You didn’t stay on the couch though, did you Courf?” Jehan cut in.  
  
Courfeyrac took a large gulp of his Irish coffee, trying not to blush. “Shut up, Jehan. You know that I slept in his bed with him.”  
  
Grantaire raised an eyebrow. “So you went on a date with another guy and ended up in bed with Combeferre?”  
  
“We didn’t sleep together if that’s what you mean!” Courfeyrac hissed, red blush filling his cheeks.  
  
Grantaire held his hands up. “I wasn’t judging. You know my problems.”  
  
Courfeyrac put his head on the table. Jehan pushed his hand through the inky black curls of his friend. “But honestly, darling, if you didn’t like him. That’s fine, just give the next one more of a chance won’t you?”  
  
“Next one?” Courf flinched.  
  
“Well, we have a crush on a certain medical student to beat out of you.” Jehan grinned.  
  
Courfeyrac didn’t like the look on Jehan’s face.  


* * *

  
_Measured in let’s all blame Jean Prouvaire  
  
_

The next date was Feuilly’s choice. Camille was a philosophy major studying at Dublin and he seemed nice enough. Dark hair, dark eyes and a nice smile. Courfeyrac smiled, maybe it was just the right time to get back into the dating game.

Camille was into science. Like, he was ridiculously into science. He was worse than Combeferre and Joly when they had too many shots and started listing the advantages of potassium nitrate. He didn’t stop talking about science and the scientific paper he was writing (Tunnelling ionisation of noble gases, if you’re interested.) even through dessert. Courfeyrac tried to smile into his chocolate cake and nod along. Maybe if Combeferre decided he was gay, he’d be a perfect boyfriend for the medical student.

To: Ferre <3  
From: Le Courf  
Please help me, Ferre. You’re my only hope. –C

From: Combeferre  
To: Courf  
Is that another bad date in the air?

From: Le Courf  
To: Ferre <3  
Shut up, Now is not the time to go fucking Han Solo on me, I swear to god Fer

From: Le Courf  
To: Ferre <3  
Sorry, he came back and he won’t stop talking about noble gases

From: Combeferre  
To: Courf  
I’ll pick you up in ten, Courf.

And if he and Combeferre end up watching Doctor Who (recorded on Combeferre’s Skybox earlier that night) and he stays the night, curled up with Ferre, then nobody says anything.  


* * *

  
“Are you kidding me?” Jehan butted in, glaring at Courfeyrac from his spot on Feuilly’s lap. “I thought that Camille would have been perfect for you. He’s like Combeferre, just without the glasses.”  
  
“Except, he wasn’t Combeferre at all. He was boring, J, no offence, Feuilly.”  
  
“None taken.” Feuilly grinned as he pressed a kiss to Jehan’s ear.  
  
“He talked about science non-stop.”  
  
“So does Combeferre.” Feuilly pointed out.  
  
“Combeferre makes it sound interesting. I just feel like this is pointless.” Courfeyrac said, his voice trailing into a whine.  
  
“It isn’t pointless. It’s a process, sweetie.” Jehan replied, tucking a lock of red hair behind his ear. “It’s going to take time for you not to compare every date to Combeferre.”  
  
“You know.” Feuilly said, playfully. “You could just ask Combeferre out? What is the harm in doing that?”  
  
“I can’t just ask him out.”  
  
“He won’t risk their friendship.” Jehan explained to his boyfriend. “He thinks that Combeferre isn’t interested.”  
  
“If that’s true, Combeferre is a fool.”  
  
“Don’t talk about my best friend like that.”  
  
“Well, then, do something about it.”  
  
Courfeyrac sighed. He should just transfer universities, or leave for England or something.  


* * *

 

The girl only liked his hair. She liked nothing regarding his personality, literally, his hair was the only thing that she was remotely interested. Once more, his finger found the button to call Combeferre. More rumpled sheets and breakfast in bed. Courf hated himself.  
  
“I give up.” Courfeyrac almost fell on Enjolras and the extensive essay he was in the process of writing.  
  
Enjolras looked down his glasses at him. (Courf almost wished Grantaire was here to witness the rare sight of his best friend in glasses.) However, the glasses made unwelcome thoughts of Combeferre return to his mind, and in turn, to his groin.  
  
Enjolras returned to his paper. “Stop thinking about him, I can hear you from here.”  
  
“Who?” Courfeyrac tried feigning innocence.  
  
“Combeferre.”  
  
“I am not thinking about Combeferre.”  
  
“Sorry, let me rephrase that. You’re pining about Combeferre.”  
  
“So what if I’m pining? You’re pining too.”  
  
Enjolras pouted a little over the top of his essay. “I do not pine. _Ever_.”  
  
“Sure, you never pined over a certain black haired artist-“ Courfeyrac teased, enjoying the fact that Enjolras’ golden skin suddenly tinged with red.  
  
“I do and never will pine over _Grantaire_. I tend not to involve myself with romantic relationships.”  
  
Just as Courfeyrac was about to argue his point, Enjolras changed the subject, but his blue-green eyes never lifted from his essay. “So how was your date?”  
  
“How was your night alone?” Courfeyrac was feeling particularly snarky.  
  
“Don’t change the subject.”  
  
“Awful. Are you happy? I am going to die alone. I am going to be the old man with no hair at Combeferre’s wedding then get eaten by Alsatians like a week later.” Courfeyrac felt the urge to smack his head on the table again.  
  
Enjolras sighed, putting his essay on the table. “That bad?”  
  
“She liked my hair.”  
  
“She liked your hair.”  
  
“Yes, literally that was the only redeeming feature she liked in me.”  
  
“Sounds like most of the dates I’ve been on.”  
  
“You’ve never been on a date, Enjolras.”  
  
“Well, maybe we could go on a date together.” Enjolras replied, a rare grin spreading across his face.  
  
“I am not having this conversation with you.”  
  
“Good. I have this paper to proofread and there’s like three books with French politics at the library I need to get out-“  
  
“I have no idea why Grantaire likes you so much.”  
  
Enjolras blatantly ignored his last comment and left Courfeyrac alone with his thoughts.  


* * *

 

_Measured in a series of a bad dates I mean what is the point  
  
_

The next guy had bad teeth. Courfeyrac didn’t even bother to come up with an excuse.

His next date was into bondage and had every intention of bringing back Courf to his torture sex chamber and to slap him with a leather implement several times.

“I don’t understand why I can’t find a good date.” Courfeyrac is sitting in the Musain, rereading over his second draft of his theory into practise paper.  
  
“Maybe you’re looking in the wrong place.” Eponine replied, glancing over at Combeferre who is currently sitting next to Enjolras listening to him rant about some social issue.  
  
“Not you too.” Courfeyrac groaned.  
  
“I’m trying to help.” Eponine sounds earnest. “I pined over Marius since college and look where that got me, you should at least find out if he’s interested.”  
  
“He’s straight.” Courf deadpanned.  
  
“No, he isn’t.” Eponine shot back.  
  
“Are you saying you caught him and Enjolras in an uncompromising position?”  
  
“Well, in college, he did kiss E, yeah. E said it was for an experiment.”  
  
“Bet R wasn’t happy.”  
  
“You could say that.”  
  
“Ferre and E though?”  
  
“As I said, it was strictly for science. I can’t imagine E having a relationship with anyone.”  
  
“You sound hopeful. Isn’t R your best friend?”  
  
“Yes, but sometimes you have to be optimistic about these things. He’s been pining years and E is still oblivious.” She glanced over to the elusive artist, his eyes trained on the blonde man still half shouting, flapping his hands about.  
  
“So anyway.” She said, changing the subject. “How was this week’s date?”  
  
“Patrick Bateman crazy. I swear to god, Ep.”  
  
“Really?” Eponine’s dark eyes were like saucers.  
  
“Really. He wanted to tie me up and fuck me senseless-“ Courfeyrac was interrupted by a gentle hand brushing against his thin cotton shirt.  
  
“Hey, Courf. You want a ride home?” Combeferre stood behind him.   
  
He probably heard Courfeyrac discussing his potential bondage session with date Mr Crazy. Courfeyrac wanted to cry. Here he was, a reasonably attractive man with a massive crush on the biggest fucking nerd in Dublin.

Combeferre was strangely quiet in the car. Courfeyrac got out quickly when they pulled up outside his flat, bidding a quick farewell to his best friend. His best friend who apparently thought he had a thing for being fucked senseless by people who looked like Christian Bale and not a thing for medical students with horn-rimmed glasses and an aptitude for moths.  


* * *

  
Courfeyrac was almost ready to give up by the time his next date rolled around. He was so ready to just begin a life of staying in his dinosaur printed sweatpants, spooning muesli into his mouth straight from the box, watching Frozen on repeat. He resisted the urge and threw on whatever he found in his wardrobe. Today’s offering was a brown patterned shirt, which he paired with a red bowtie. He sighed in the mirror. He looked like the Eleventh Doctor but he couldn’t be bothered to change. Slipping into the nearest pair of black skinny jeans, he pulled on his boots and left his flat, wrapped up against the cold December weather.

His date was obsessed with Phantom of the Opera. Like, truly obsessed, like he did not stop talking about the epic love story of Christine and Erik all the way through to dessert. He even implied that if they took the date further, that Courfeyrac could dress up as the Christine to his Erik – “I have over twelve different masks, pertaining to different moods of the Phantom, my favourite is a white one edged with gold-“ Courfeyrac smiled and played along.   
  
He did enjoy the Phantom of the Opera, of course, Jehan had taken him to see it twice already. He just wasn’t the biggest fan of unhealthy relationships. He didn’t have the heart to tell his date – Eoin – that he was a bigger fan of Raoul. Raoul knew what was going on, he knew what he wanted. Courf definitely wasn’t going to mention that he identified with Raoul on some level. The character loved someone who didn’t love him back. Courfeyrac had watched the twenty fifth anniversary on DVD at Enjolras’ house and he definitely did not have a crush on Hadley Fraser and his eyeliner, thank you very much.   
  
Combeferre didn’t even need the phone call. He texted Courfeyrac towards the end of dessert.  
  
To: Courfeyrac  
From: Ferre <3

I’m outside, if you need a lift home.  


Phantom Guy tried to kiss Courfeyrac outside but Courfeyrac ducked slightly so his dates’ dry lips grazed his cheek and he said his goodbyes quickly.

He got into the car and smiled at Combeferre.  
  
“You know you don’t have to keep coming and picking me up from bad dates.”  
  
“I do until you actually get a good date.”  
  
“Like that is ever going to happen. I’ve been on about eight dates.”  
  
“You just haven’t met the right person, Courf.”  
  
Courfeyrac bit his lip. _I have, he just doesn’t know it.  
  
_

* * *

 

“So how is getting over Combeferre thing going?” Joly asked.  
  
Courfeyrac resisted the urge to spit out his tea. He was having a bad enough day, he’d overslept and just managed to submit his English paper in time to the university check-in desk. Thankfully, the night before, he’d filled in the assignment sheet with all the details. He was overplaying his conversation with Combeferre. He hadn’t had any breakfast this morning and Enjolras ended up texting him all morning, asking about Grantaire, of all people.  
  
“What are you talking about?” Courfeyrac tried the nonchalant approach.  
  
“You and Combeferre, or more specifically your crush on Combeferre.”  
  
Courfeyrac groaned. “Does everyone know about this?”  
  
“Well, depends how you view everyone. I’d say everyone except Marius and Combeferre himself.”  
  
“Oh god, you’re not going to tell him are you?”  
  
“Of course not, Courf. I just wondered when you’re going to ask him out, I’m sick of him ringing me up all confused after you go on all these dates- shit, I said too much-“  
Courfeyrac was confused. Why would Combeferre ring Joly and why would they discuss Courfeyrac and his dates? However, Joly wasn’t budging any further. He would not divulge any more information. He just changed the subject and asked about Courfeyrac’s date.  
  
“Awful. He wanted a Christine to accompany his Phantom.”  
  
“I assume you told him about your crush on Hadley Fraser?”  
  
“Strangely enough, that didn’t come up. It was probably for the best.”  


* * *

  
“I can’t take much more of this.” Courfeyrac burst into the Corinthe.   
  
Grantaire and Bahorel looked up from their usual table. Grantaire had his sketchbook out and looked as though he was sketching out a rough drawing of Enjolras. Bahorel marked the place he had gotten to in his large history textbook.  
  
“I assume it was another awful bad date, Courf?”  
  
Courf nodded. “He had dirty fingernails. How can I date a man with such poor body image?”  
  
Grantaire smirked but did not lift his eyes from his sketchbook. “I assume Ferre picked you up again?”  
  
“So how is the Enjolras situation going? He won’t stop texting you about you.”  
  
Courfeyrac was certain that he saw slight colour spread across Grantaire’s pale cheeks.  
  
“You all need a good kick up the arse.” Bahorel said, taking a drink of his beer.  
  
The conversation was soon forgotten as Marius and Bossuet soon joined them, having finished their classes.

Combeferre was acting strange, like stranger like usual. He ended up staying in the corner of the Musain, nursing a large green tea with Enjolras, talking in hushed voices. They stopped immediately when Courfeyrac came closer to the table.  
  
“What were you guys discussing?” Courfeyrac asked, looking between his best friends.  
  
Enjolras’ beautiful face betrayed nothing, Combeferre looked vaguely guilty.  
  
“We were just discussing a personal problem of Combeferre’s.”  
  
They both looked as though they did not want to discuss the matter further. Courfeyrac tried not to ignore the twisting feeling in his chest. Since when did Enjolras and Combeferre keep secrets from him?  
  


* * *

 

He didn’t mean to get drunk. However, Grantaire, always sensitive towards romantic matters, pressed a bottle of beer into his hands and Courfeyrac did not protest. He proceeded to drink with Grantaire, Bahorel and Bossuet, ignoring Combeferre, Enjolras and Jehan’s worried glances across the room. Courfeyrac started giggling at something Grantaire said about Enjolras’ hair. The next minute, a familiar warm strong hand grasped his shoulder.  
  
He let out a deep breath he didn’t even realise he was holding. The alcohol he had consumed only intensified his feelings, he could smell the faint scent of Combeferre’s cologne still clinging to his neck. He realised how gold Combeferre’s hair looked in the dim light of the Musain, how his eyes seemed to look grey today and the small wrinkle in his brow, meaning he was worried. He frowned.  
  
“Courfeyrac?” Combeferre shook him.  
  
“Wha-? What is it?”  
  
“I think it’s time we got you home, friend.”  
  
“But you haven’t even loosened up yet, Ferre. You need to come and have a drink with me.”  
  
“I can’t, Courf. I have an important class at eight tomorrow morning. It’s already midnight.”  
  
“Ferre-“ Courfeyrac whined.  
  
Combeferre frowned again. “Courfeyrac, I am taking you home. Grantaire and the others are going home too.”  
  
“Is Enjolras coming with us?”  
  
“No, he’s got class in the morning.”  
  
Courfeyrac blinked. “But I thought that you would invite Enjolras back to your apartment-“  
  
“No, Courf. You’re coming back to my apartment so I can keep an eye on you.”  
  
“Just thought that you would rather invite your boyfriend back.”  
  
“…Boyfriend?”  
  
Courfeyrac is getting tired of Combeferre’s false innocence. “Yeah, you and Enjolras are dating, I get it.”  
  
Combeferre doesn’t say anything for a moment, helping Courfeyrac to his feet. All Courfeyrac can think is that he didn’t deny the fact.  
  


* * *

  
Courfeyrac wakes up the next morning in Combeferre’s bed but the man is long gone, the space next to Courfeyrac is rumpled, but cold, vacated several hours ago.  
There’s a note on Combeferre’s bedside table.

_Courf,  
I had to go to class. Feel free to shower and get ready for your own classes.  
Breakfast is in the fridge.  
Hope you slept okay.  
Combeferre  
  
_

Courfeyrac sighed heavily and buried his face into the pillow. It smelt of Combeferre. Courfeyrac hated himself, he was such an arsehole.  


* * *

 

Courfeyrac tried to avoid Combeferre, but that was impossible. They hung out in the same group of friends. However, Courfeyrac ignored the hurt look that crossed Combeferre’s features every time he walked past their table to sit by Grantaire. Joly and Jehan gave him a look but he ignored them. He was trying to get over Combeferre, wasn’t that what they all wanted?  


He tried to block out his friends disapproving faces and Combeferre for his next date. They almost seemed like second nature to him now. However, he felt his heart drop in his throat when he got sight of his date. He looked just like Jehan.

It turned out that his date was not Jehan, but was an art and history student who could have been his less-evil twin. They even dressed similar and acted the same. However, Courfeyrac stayed with the man until the end of the date. He made his feelings clear, however, he was currently in the process of getting over someone and the man – Owain, reminded him too much of a very close friend. Combeferre didn’t pick him up after his date.  
  
Resigned, Courfeyrac made his way down the streets of Dublin.  
  
His night was not improved by Enjolras finding him drowning his sorrows alone in the Corinthe after his date.  
  
“You know Combeferre and I are not dating.” Enjolras said, matter of factly; there was no introduction, Enjolras was the sort of man who just leapt straight into what he wanted to say. Courfeyrac admired that.  
  
“What are you talking about?” Courfeyrac said, he wasn’t drunk enough to be having this conversation with his best friend.  
  
“Combeferre and me. We are not dating, we never have dated and we never will.”  
  
“Forgive me, E, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  
  
“Ferre thinks that you’re mad at him, mad at us. He said that you thought we were dating.”  
  
“I was drunk when I said that, E. You saw how fucked I was.”  
  
“Courf, that’s not the point. He was really cut up about it.”  
  
“Combeferre? Cut up? It’s a reasonable assumption. You two do spend a lot of time together.”  
  
“Just talk to him, please? You might be surprised at what he has to say.”  
  
“I’ll talk to him when you talk to Grantaire about that massive crush you have on him.”  
  
“I do not have a massive crush on Grantaire.” Enjolras frowned. Fortunately, his face was still beautiful, Courfeyrac thought bitterly.  
  
“You have a crush on him though.”  
  
Enjolras was speechless, possibly for the first time in his life. Courfeyrac tried not to think about how this could possibly mean that Enjolras wasn’t dating Combeferre. He couldn’t be dating Combeferre if he had feelings for Grantaire.  


* * *

 

_Measured in starry eyes  
  
_

This was it. It was make or break time. This was the last date he would put himself through. He made a huge fucking effort, he styled his hair to perfection. He put his best pair of skinny jeans on, the ones that showed off his arse beautifully. Straightening his bow tie, he smiled at himself in the mirror. He was so ready, he was ready to get over Combeferre.

Courfeyrac’s hopes were dashed almost instantly. His date looked like Combeferre, like, exactly like Combeferre. He’d had enough. He didn’t even introduce himself to the man. He just turned on his heel and headed for the Corinthe. He felt like an arsehole but he couldn’t sit through three hours with a man who looked identical to the man he was trying to get over.  
Most of the group were sitting around three tables pushed together at the Corinthe. The only two missing were Combeferre and Enjolras. Courfeyrac groaned internally, he wondered if they were having sex in Combeferre’s bed or something. He ordered a pint of lager and dropped into the seat between Grantaire and Jehan.  
  
“You’re back early.” Jehan checked his watch.  
  
“I didn’t even go to the date.” Courfeyrac murmured, taking a large gulp of his Guinness.  
  
“What?” Grantaire seemed confused. “Did he have dirty hair? Was he obsessed with Greek Mythology?”  
  
“No.” Courfeyrac said, lowering his voice. “He looked like Combeferre.”  
  
“What about Combeferre?” Jehan asked innocently, cocking his head.  
  
“My date, my date looked like Combeferre. He was like his twin or something and I couldn’t do it, you guys, I couldn’t sit there for three hours making small talk with a substitute. I just can’t do it anymore, this whole dating to get over Combeferre thing, it’s not working. In fact, I feel as though I’m worse off. I’m scared. I think I’ve fucked things up with him and I with going on so many dates, I pushed him into E’s arms-“  
  
“What are you talking about?” Grantaire pressed, his eyes suddenly aflame by the mention of his Apollo.  
  
“He and E are dating. E denied it but Combeferre never did. Combeferre wouldn’t lie to me.”  
  
Jehan and Grantaire looked speechless but exchanged knowing glances. “E is not dating Ferre, Courf.”  
  
“I can’t believe you two are lying to me too. It’s enough the man I love is lying to me but-”  
  
Grantaire opened his mouth to respond but he stopped mid-sentence.  
  
“We’re not lying to you, Courf.” Enjolras’ calm voice rang through the air. Courfeyrac paused and span around quickly. Standing behind him were his two best friends, Enjolras, as beautiful as ever, looked grave. It did not suit his magnificent features. However, it was not the presence of Enjolras that made Courfeyrac falter. Combeferre was standing by his best friend, face pale.  
  
“How…How much of that-“Courfeyrac couldn’t look either of them in the eye.  
  
“We came in just when you declared that Combeferre and I are dating.” Enjolras said, shortly.  
  
Courfeyrac groaned and gulped some more of his Guinness down.  
  
“I’m a bit upset you think we’ve been lying to you.” Enjolras continued. “We would never lie to you, Courf, especially with the information we are aware of-“ His eyes flitted over to Combeferre, who was silent.  
  
“I guess we’ll leave you alone.” Enjolras said, addressing both of his best friends.  
  
Enjolras herded up all the Les Amis and they moved into another room, leaving Courfeyrac and Combeferre alone.  


* * *

  
Courfeyrac was at a loss as what to say to his best friend. Were they even best friends right now? He polished off his pint of Guinness, hoping that the Dutch courage would do the job.  
  
“Ferre-“ he began.  
  
Combeferre said nothing, only moving to sit down opposite Courfeyrac. His face betrayed nothing.  
  
“Ferre,” Courfeyrac continued. “I am so sorry you found out this way-“  
  
“How long?” Combeferre cut in. His voice was steady, calm and controlled.  
  
Courfeyrac closed his eyes. “Since probably the day we met.”  
  
“That’s almost a year, Courf.”  
  
“Tell me about it. This is why I went on all those dates.”  
  
“Forgive me for asking.” Combeferre sounded apologetic, the little frown line between his glasses had returned. “But why did you go on so many dates if you…had feelings for me?”  
  
“I was trying to get over you.” Courfeyrac said, embarrassed. “I asked Jehan for help. I know I should have talked to you but-“  
  
“You should have, yes, but I am not going to berate you about that.”  
  
“I am so sorry, Ferre. You deserve better than me. I just-“  
  
“I don’t deserve anything, Courf.” Combeferre reached out and grasped Courfeyrac’s hand. “I just need to know if…your feelings have changed.”  
  
“No, my feelings are the same as they were when we first met. The dating thing didn’t really work out-“ Courfeyrac never got to finish his sentence.  
  
Combeferre closed the gap between them, pressing his lips against Courfeyrac’s. Courf gasped; Combeferre’s lips were warm and slightly chapped but he never thought that he’d be in the Corinthe with his best friend slash crushes’ lips pressed against his. Combeferre’s hand danced up Courfeyrac’s arm, twisting into the material of his shirt. Courfeyrac opened his mouth slightly, Combeferre took the invitation, slipping his warm tongue inside Courfeyrac’s mouth. They kissed for a few minutes, their tongues dancing over one another, their teeth scraping against each other’s lips, Combeferre’s warm hands dancing over Courfeyrac’s arse. Courf thought he’d died and gone to heaven.  
  
After a few moments, they pulled apart, panting.  
  
“So I guess, that means?” Combeferre asked.  
  
“Yes.” Courfeyrac replied, a smirk gracing his face. “Yes, Combeferre, I will be your boyfriend.”  
  
“You have no idea how happy that makes me.”  
  
“Not as happy as me when I realised you wanted to kiss me, not Enjolras.”  
  
“I am not discussing Enjolras now.” Combeferre said playfully. “I think he’s got his own problems in the form of a certain artist anyway-“  
  
“Should we go and tell the others the good news?” Courfeyrac asked, pressing another kiss to Combeferre’s cheek. Their hands locked together, fingers falling over each other with such familiarity.  
  
“Maybe in five minutes?” Combeferre said. Courfeyrac grinned.  
  
Five minutes later, they emerged from the room. Combeferre’s glasses askew, his shirt rumpled. Courfeyrac had a huge grin on his face and his hair was extremely ruffled. The rest of Les Amis burst into applause when Combeferre and Courfeyrac joined the table, still holding hands.  
  
“A new round to celebrate Courf and Ferre finally getting their act together!” Jehan squealed from his place on Feuilly’s lap.  
  
Drinks were bought and toasted to the new couple, both of which had been sporting huge grins since their kiss. Courfeyrac pecked Combeferre on the cheek and took a swig of his new pint of Guinness.  
  
“Congratulations you two, I am really happy for you.” Enjolras said, engaging Courfeyrac in conversation whilst Combeferre and Joly were drawn up talking about work placements.  
  
“Thanks, E. I’m really sorry about not believing you before, I was just so caught up in my emotions.”  
  
“It’s okay, Courf. I’m just glad everything worked out in the end.”  
  
“Well, almost everything.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Enjolras looked confused.  
  
“Well, when we were talking, Ferre mentioned something going on between you and a certain someone.”  
  
The top of Enjolras’ ears stained pink. “It’s early days. We’re still…talking about it.” He admitted to his best friend.  
  
Courfeyrac stopped himself from shouting out his approval across the Corinthe. “I am so happy for you, E.” He winked at Grantaire, who was sitting on the other side of Enjolras, his hand loosely tangled with the blonde man’s.  
  
“What are you grinning about?” Combeferre asked him later.  
  
“Everything coming together so perfectly.” He paused, glancing at his boyfriend. “I love you, Ferre.”  
  
“I love you, too, Courf.”  
  
They kissed under the dim light of the Corinthe, surrounded by the love of their friends.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is [here.](http://www.garynevilles.tumblr.com)


End file.
